Bookends
by shimmeryshine
Summary: A collection of Season 5 post-eps.
1. murder, he wrote

**A/N: **I feel like I will probably be posting a lot of post-eps/episode insert type things this year, so I'm just going to keep them all here, in one place. Easier for everyone I think and tbh less pressure because I don't feel like they all have to stand all on their own. Some will be short, some will be long, some will be fluff, some will be dirty business. Just gonna kind of go with whatever I'm feelin'. So yeah, WATCH THIS SPACE. (I'm not going to cross post these on LJ either, so if you usually read there, BE AWARE.)

* * *

_murder, he wrote_

* * *

She's doing it again.

Moving her legs, squeezing her thighs together. Staring at him. Her face is painted in barely concealed want, and it looks good on her, looks really good on her. Would look better on him, but they're in the middle of someone else's precinct and even though they've been outed, he's not allowed to touch her here.

Cruel, cruel jokes.

So they solve crime, as they do. Keep their hands to themselves in public, mostly. Toe the line in private, until he's on the phone and she starts doing it again, undressing him with her hazy eyes, legs traitorous as she sucks on the tip of her own finger. He finally advances on her then, the chirping in his ear almost white noise as he trails a thumb down the fabric of her dress at her thigh, bringing her gaze up to his face.

She's being quiet, knows he's on the phone with the boys, but her eyes are bright and the only thing he sees in them is _please_ not _no_, and so he skims his hand under the hem of her dress and just feels her tense against him, squeezing those runners legs against each other, fanning the spark of arousal he sees at the edges of her irises.

He doesn't move to touch her further, just lets his fingers span her, grasping, feeling. The phone at his ear tilts upward so the mouthpiece is up and away, out of hearing distance he hopes. She'll kill him if the boys hear her, no matter how much she may want this.

"Does it feel good when you do that?" he whispers to her, close enough that their noses are brushing. He doesn't kiss her though, just watches her eyes as she tilts her hips forward more obviously, crossing her legs harder.

"It doesn't suck."

"You've been doing it all day."

"Well, _someone_ would rather work this case than do it for me, so." She shrugs, her unbothered façade well practiced, but she's let him so far in now, it's barely even worth trying. He sees right through her.

An apology slides through his lips as he presses them against her cheek, breathing her in through his nose as he lets his hand slide higher up her thigh. She tenses against the wall, back pressing harder as she grips her wine glass, but then Ryan's voice is calling his name through the receiver, making them both jump.

"Yeah, I'm here," Castle says, and then flips the phone up again, pressing his body into Beckett's, watching her gasp at the contact.

"Castle, stop," she whispers harshly, eyes cutting to the phone in his hand.

As much as he wants to do this, her job is not a joke, so he just holds her there until Ryan's done talking, then hangs up swiftly and shoves his phone into his pocket.

"What did he say?" she asks, taking a sip of wine from her glass, arm brushing his chest because of how closely they are standing. He can feel her legs tensing again, and he's not sure if she's doing it on purpose or if she's just that desperate for friction, but in either case he's done putting her second for this case tonight.

"Not important."

"_Castle._"

"This is supposed to be your _vacation_ and I'm ruining it, let me make it up to you?"

He kisses her swiftly, but she pulls away, groaning softly.

"Castle, you're not ruining anything." She's rolling her eyes in that way she does when she's dropping pretenses, like he should _know_ whatever it is she's about to say. "I like watching you do this, fight for the truth." A pause hangs in the air as she lets that sink in for a moment, and then she brings her mouth to his, brushing a feather light kiss to his lips. "I like watching you do what I've taught you."

If her objective was to incite him to solve crime, go back to the case, she spectacularly succeeds and fails all at the same time, his affection for her, for what they do together slamming through him all at once. He wants find every truth with her.

"So does that make you my super hot teacher?" he growls into her ear, both palms now sliding up under her dress to grab at the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up so she can wrap her legs around his waist. She squeezes them against his sides, an echo of what started this all, laughs at the brightness in his eyes.

"Whatever does it for you, Castle."

"You do it for me."

"_Show me_."

Crime waits until morning.


	2. probable cause

_probable cause_

* * *

She's in a daze all the way back from the bridge. They drive through early morning traffic smoothly, her rote knowledge of the streets around his loft guiding her as she barely sees the road, Castle sitting quietly beside her. The elevator ride is a non event, she doesn't even remember stepping on, who pressed the button, if anyone was even in the lift with them, but as they step over the threshold and into his quiet, morning lit living room everything stops, comes sharply into focus because he's free and alive and here with her and his hand is at her hip, turning her, sliding over her shirt and into her belt, wrapping his fingers around the grip of her gun.

He shot a man with her gun tonight. Six shots and zero hesitation. Pop pop pop for her and for them and for every victim that would have come, and as she watches him, watches his eyes slide over her face as he tugs her gun off of her, her heart starts beating so hard that she can feel it in her throat.

Her eyes follow his fingers as they flex around her gun, set it down on the counter and out of the way, and then he's raising his empty hand up to her jaw, the pad of his thumb softly outlining the nasty cut along her cheekbone. It stings, the way he's touching it, but she doesn't flinch away, instead feeling the zip of adrenaline run through her at the sensation, and so she tilts into it, the sting getting sharper.

Blue irises narrow darkly as he watches her hold in a groan of pain, but she likes it, likes how it makes her feel alive, likes that he has a matching slash across his forehead. She reaches for it absently, fingers brushing the half wet flop of his hair, but then he's circling her wrist, jarring her enough to refocus her attention to his eyes.

They're full, those eyes, full of the things he's still afraid of. A killer still on the loose, dying and leaving her behind, leaving her with a new vendetta to drive herself into an early grave, alone and without him. Afraid of all the things he can't control.

"Castle," she chokes out, desperate to erase those things for him. He's not meant to carry such shadows under his eyes.

At her strangled utterance he steps farther into her, letting the hand cupping her jaw slide into her hair, and then she's framing his face with her fingers until she's got a hold of his ears and his mouth on hers and she's swallowing up the things he's trying to keep down.

He backs her up before she can push him toward the bedroom, the hard edge of the kitchen counter biting into her spine as he overwhelms her, hands and mouth everywhere all at once. A gasp cuts through the silence of the loft as he kisses across her cheek and lifts her up and onto the counter in one smooth motion, his nose grazing her cut as he does, reminding her of everything they've been through in the past few days. Reminding her of the look on his face when he picked up her gun and _fired it_.

Goosebumps ripple across her abdomen as his warm hands skim her shirt up, just high enough for him to cup at her bra, but then he's gone again, popping the button on her pants and tugging as she swings an elbow around his neck to lift herself up. She tries to get him to look at her, to slow, maybe, but he's not having it, undressing her from the waist down in a second.

Short strands of hair slip through her fingers as she cups the back of his head, still angled downward as he toes off his own shoes, but then he's pressing his face into her neck again and she knows what he needs, what they both need. She's come home after a case like this on more than one occasion but she's usually alone and throws on her running shoes and pounds the pavement unforgivingly until she's exhausted enough to fall into bed and sleep it off, but they can do this together now. Be alive, together.

So she cradles the back of his head, lets him hide in her neck as she pushes his pants past his hips and hooks her legs around the backs of his thighs and pulls him closer.

"I'm here," she whispers fiercely against his ear over and over. "I've got you," and then his fingers are wrapping around her hips, pulling her to the edge of the counter and it's fast and sloppy and he's kind of crushing her a little bit, holding on too tightly but she won't let go of him either, not now and not ever and it's that thought that saturates her entire body as she tenses for him, comes on a shiver, bright and warm, cradling him as he follows right behind her.

She's the one who raises his head finally, after, palms soft against his cheeks and thumbs gentle under his damp eyes, wiping away everything he's just worked out.

"Hey," she whispers, trying on a private smile for him. It mostly works because his lips tip up too, warmth creeping in past the fear he's been harboring for days and days.

"Hey." His voice is hoarse but steady, his throat clearing sheepishly as he releases the grip he has on her naked thighs, as if he's only just realizing the position he has them in. A 'sorry' starts forming its way in his mouth but she shakes her head at him, presses a finger over his lips to stop it from escaping.

"Take me to bed," she commands softly against his mouth as her lips brush against his, as her legs close strongly around his waist, letting him take the bulk of her weight, carry her through the loft to their bed, her whole being chanting _I trust you I trust you I trust you. _


	3. the final frontier

_the final frontier_

* * *

Castle has one of those disappearing TVs in a dresser across the room from his bed, as Beckett finds out when he finally emerges hesitantly from his locked bathroom after their little Creaver cosplay incident.

"You want to watch Nebula 9 in here?" she asks him as she fingers the edge of her Lieutenant Chloe dress, the Creaver mask long shoved away into the bottom of her overnight bag. The shoes are gone too, leaving her barefoot and several inches shorter.

He's watching her fingers in a heated kind of way, but he's still playing traumatized. To what end, she's not sure, but if he wants to watch tv with her in his _bed_, she's one hundred percent certain his motives are not completely innocent.

"More comfortable if I'm not allowed to make fun."

She gives him an eyebrow but says nothing more, climbing up and onto his bed to settle in between his legs, back against his chest as he pulls the blanket over their laps and calls up Netflix with his remote.

His voice is unexpectedly close to her ear when he asks, "you ready?"

The back of her head falls easily onto his shoulder, tucking into the side of his neck as she nods, gives a hum of approval, and then the blue and purple toned Nebula 9 opening credits explode across the screen, sending a happy little zip through her whole body. It's been _so _long, and watching it with Castle's warm, solid presence behind her feels a little bit like coming home.

As the pilot episode unfolds, Castle is mostly good behind her, only scoffing to himself once or twice before her elbow in his ribs is enough to deter him, and she gets completely sucked in. It's then, when she is absolutely engrossed, that Castle decides to make his move.

His hands, previously resting benignly over the covers, slip quietly underneath, sliding gently over the tops of her thighs until he hits the hem of her dress. They rest there, heavy and warm, thumbs circling quietly as he watches Captain Max dramatically save the ship from certain death. She likes the feel of them there so she doesn't mention it, doesn't chastise him for trying to distract her, or himself, just lets herself melt back into him and relax, her favorite show in front of her and her favorite man behind.

At her lack of response, she feels Castle grow bolder behind her, his warm fingers trailing farther down her bare legs, the pads of them sweeping up the sensitive insides of her thighs. It feels really good though, the way he's playing with her so she lets him, letting one of her knees slide up and outward so he has more room to move. He takes advantage of her acquiescence, one hot palm completely spanning her upper thigh under her dress, the tips of his fingers playing with the edge of her underwear at the crease of her hip as his other hand comes up the front of her, over her dress, cupping at her over her bra.

A soft moan tumbles from her lips absently as her hips roll softly against the barely there pressure between her legs, lazily seeking friction if she can get it.

"You look so much better in this dress than Stephanie Frye," he whispers throatily into her ear, dropping an open mouthed kiss against the skin at her neck.

"Oh _now_ the costume's working for you?"

She feels him withdraw a little bit in indignation.

"It wasn't the _dress_ that was the problem – "

She cuts him off with a _shh_ and a hand slapped backward over his mouth. "Be quiet Castle, it's just about to start getting really good."

His huff of air blows against her fingers but he stops talking, instead choosing to tighten the hand between her legs a little more, pressing three of his fingers directly over her and then smoothing them away, painting her inner thighs with her own dampness.

She knows exactly what he's doing. Patience is not exactly her strong suit in bed, and he thinks he can get her just worked up enough to initiate something, but she's too relaxed, too entranced by the nostalgia the show is bringing her coupled with the slow glide of his hands. She's perfectly content.

Well, perfectly content until her beloved Lieutenant Chloe takes a detour into Captain Max's private chambers halfway into the episode and climbs over him in his bunk, straddling his hips and hovering her mouth only a breath from his.

Beckett holds her breath, a hot wash of arousal pumping through her veins at the couple on the tv. She remembers being entranced by the two of them when she was in college, their chemistry electric, mesmerizing, and it's no different for her now. Only this time, Castle is at her back, stupidly observant Castle who spends every day of his life cataloguing her reactions to things and who absolutely does _not_ miss the way her body flushes and gets tense, the way she holds her breath in her chest, eyes glued to the screen.

His mouth opens wetly against her ear and she knows he has her before he even says anything.

"This is pretty racy for campy sci-fi," he muses as the two leads lock lips onscreen, tongues sliding in full view of the cameras.

"Mmhm, I guess." She's spectacularly failing at sounding uninterested, but doesn't much care as Castle's fingers slide devastatingly down the front of her underwear again, hard and on point. She gasps and arches into his hand under the blankets, eyes still watching the couple on screen. Lieutenant Chloe's hips are moving too, suggestive drags against the front of Captain Max's pants, and as she watches them, she feels Castle adjust to their speed, mimicking what's happening in the scene.

"I see why you liked her so much, she takes what she wants." On the word _wants_, Castle slides his fingers up her stomach and then underneath her underwear, hitting hot, bare skin and then he's inside of her, rhythm still matching Lt. Chloe's onscreen. "Reminds me of you."

A strangled groan slips from Beckett's mouth as she watches Chloe toss off her shirt, watches her push Max's shoulders back to the bed when he tries to sit up, and then the camera starts cutting away in soap opera fashion, ten year old trendy angles as Chloe's mouth starts to hang open suggestively, and this is when Castle picks up speed, letting the heel of his hand rub at her as his fingers crook, the hand at her breast tightening as he opens his mouth at her neck and sucks and then she's riding his hand as the music swells and her eyes close, body shivering hard against everywhere he's touching her.

She slumps loosely against him as she vaguely hears the scene change, but all she can focus on is the pounding of her heart in her ears and the sweet tendrils of her orgasm sliding under her skin.

"I think I underestimated how _into _this show you are," Castle laughs into her ear, hand sliding out of her underwear but then back over the top of them, rubbing gently as she comes down.

Ugh, he feels _good_, despite his teasing, so she turns her head, opening her mouth against the underside of his jaw as she lets her hips roll lazily against his hand.

"Maybe if you're good, I'll let you be my Captain Max," she breathes into his skin, letting one of her hands slide backward and into the vee of his legs, pressing against him deliberately.

"And may fortune guide my journey."


	4. after hours

_after hours_

* * *

Near death experiences are nothing new to Castle and Beckett. Shots fired, partners swiped off the street, guns held to precious heads but now, now that she can jump into his arms after a close call, can feel his hands closing around her back, his short, panting breath against her cheek, worried and frantic and alive, she can't control herself.

She needs him. Badly.

None of the uniforms have twenty bucks to give the cab driver to take them home, but she doesn't even care, instead waving off the yellow car and shoving Castle back under an overpass and into the alleyway before he can even blink. There's a dumpster and she ducks behind it, using it as cover as she grabs a fistful of his maroon shirt, still the one from their fancy dinner, and pulls him against her as her back hits the wall. He comes to her mouth like a magnet, hands shooting out in surprise but he catches on quickly, letting his body arch into hers as his palms land on the wall on either side of her head, bracketing her.

"Wait – " he gasps, but her fingers slide up the back of his neck and into his hair, holding his head to hers as her other squeezes possessively at his waist.

She shakes her head, but her _no_ gets caught in his mouth as her tongue strokes against his, white hot against the chill night air.

Blue and red lights bounce off the rough chips of exposed brick all around them, so many of her colleagues just out of sight, but she almost lost him again and there are too many missed opportunities hanging down around them in an oppressive curtain and the only way she can think to make everything _stop_, to make everything okay again is to just go with her gut on this one.

And her gut _wants him_.

"Come on, Castle," she whisper breathes as her cold fingers yank his shirt up and out of his pants, fiddling with his button even as she can't keep her mouth off of his.

"Are you sure you want to do this here?"

His eyes are wide and blue as she opens hers to meet them, so close she can see his pupils dilating.

"I – please, I need to Castle."

He must see the desperation on her face, or feel it reflected back in himself because it's the only convincing she has to do before he's yanking at the buttons of her jacket and sliding his hands up and underneath her shirt.

She bites the tight tendons in the side of his neck when he uses both hands to cup her through her bra, pressing her against the brick as his mouth fuses to hers again, kissing her over and over and over until she can barely stand. It's completely overwhelming, the way he commandeers her body when he's touching it. She can focus on literally nothing else.

The sound of a zipper separating cuts through the dull commotion coming from the crime scene and the hushed rustle of their clothes, and it's only when she feels Castle's full fingers pressing firmly against her lower abdomen and then lower that she realizes the sound was from her own pants.

A _yes_ falls through her lips and into his ear as he fully cups her, hips pressing into the hot friction he's suddenly providing. She can't stop the movement, suddenly so thankful that her coat is so thick that she's not scratching her own back from the unabashed way she's taking from him.

Castle comes impossibly closer into her space as he touches her, mouth ghosting across hers as she bites her own lip, and then she's grabbing for his own pants, yanking the zipper down and thrusting her hand inside.

He is beyond ready for her, the heightened situation lending an undercurrent of pure desperation to their coupling, and as she pulls him free of his pants, he's shoving hers down until they're tangling with her complicated shoes, too much work to take off. With a little hop, she climbs him, pressing her knees tightly into his hips because she can't wrap her legs all the way around with her pants still half on, but he's strong, holding her up with two hands underneath the backs of her thighs as she guides him into her.

One of her elbows crooks around his neck as she holds on against the thick arousal between her legs, the way he's moving against her hard and frantic, it has her panting in seconds. They move together, fluid and completely engaged until the quick squawk of a siren nearby swiftly sends a cold zip of dread down her spine when she remembers why they're here at all.

Her mouth goes to his then, quick and wet and sloppy, hands framing his cheeks as she lets her forehead tip against his. She thought he _died_ in that car, for a couple of heart stopping seconds, but he's here and lighting her up in all the ways she would never let him before and it all just _hits her_, how much he means to her, how much she needs him, how much she wants him.

How much she loves him.

She's perching on the edge of ruin as he sloppily thrusts into her, her cheek sliding against his so her mouth is at his ear and then she can't stop, body moving and mouth choking out _I love you I love you I love you_ until he swallows back a sob against her hair and they both finish in messy hot rush of relief.

It's not pretty, the way she stumbles off of him, skinning her knee on the hard gravel before he's wrapping a hand around her bicep and hauling her up and into his chest. His arms wrap around her back and into her hair as he crushes her to him, as she lets her own hands grip the back of his jacket with a force that will surely leave two wrinkled circles in the fabric, but she hardly cares. She can't let go, won't let go.

He's whispering things into her hair that she can't really hear, but the cadence of his voice is comforting, familiar enough for her to imagine a thousand sentiments, and then he's releasing her enough to pull her head back and kiss her gently.

"Thanks for being you," she blurts, her own hand coming up to cup at the meaty part of his thumb as it rests against her cheek. They're so different, but she wouldn't have it any other way. They wouldn't survive if they were the same.

He gives her a quizzical eyebrow at the outburst, but she shakes her head and kisses his palm, then steps back to right her clothes. He follows her movement into her space, but does the same, until they're both more or less back to normal.

"I'd say 'you're welcome' but that feels kind of smug in this situation."

She rolls her eyes familiarly, but reaches for his hand, winding her own around it.

"Come on Castle, let's get out of here."

His shoulder bumps hers as they walk, emerging from the alley into a gust of crisp November air, alive and together.


End file.
